


Donation

by Nary



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Angst, Dirty Talk, F/M, Hand Jobs, Masturbation, Mention of Dulcinea Septimus for reasons of sexy talk, OR IS IT, Pre-Canon, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28740876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: Evidently someone in Genomics had realized at the last minute that the Warden's imminent departure might mean permanently losing access to some high-quality necro spunk, and put in a request for a donation."Did they give you the magazines too, or were those your own idea?""Theirs," Pal said.  He sounded tired and more than a bit frustrated.  "I've been trying for twenty minutes and no luck.  We leave in three days. I have better things to be doing than jerking off into a specimen jar."
Relationships: Camilla Hect/Palamedes Sextus
Comments: 24
Kudos: 66
Collections: Smut Bingo 2021





	Donation

Camilla never knocked when entering the room she shared with Palamedes. They'd grown up in one another's pockets - in the juvie dormitories there was no such thing as privacy. Now they were older and had their own bedroom, a modest cell of a chamber with just enough space for two beds, a desk, and an overfull bookshelf, but the existence they shared allowed no provisions for secrets or stealth. They were necromancer and cavalier, they had to act as one. It would be like your left arm asking for a bit of privacy from your right.

Still, when she walked in, fresh from the showers after an hour of combat training, and found him seated on the edge of his bed wearing nothing but his shirt, hand wrapped around his dick and an assortment of titty magazines spread out next to him, she was at least briefly taken aback, if only because the titty magazines weren't usually his thing. He probably really did read them for the articles. His hand stilled when she entered and he tugged the edge of his shirt down a little, as if that could hide anything. 

Camilla stepped into the room so the autodoor would close behind her. She didn't ask for an explanation, just moved to put her blades away in the case she kept under her bed. "Genomics contribution," he said, even though she hadn't asked. "Before we go. They insisted."

The Sixth House's gene pool was shallow and more than a little stagnant. Diversifying it via offworld missions was an important enough task that they had an entire division of troops largely for that purpose. But the offworld mission they were about to leave on wasn't one where there was likely to be much chance for convenient hook-ups. They had been summoned to Canaan House, on the First, to answer the Emperor's call for new Lyctoral candidates. And evidently someone in Genomics had realized at the last minute that the Warden's imminent departure might mean permanently losing access to some high-quality necro spunk, and put in a request for a donation. 

"Did they give you the magazines too, or were those your own idea?"

"Theirs," Pal said. He sounded tired and more than a bit frustrated. "I've been trying for twenty minutes and no luck. We leave in three days. I have better things to be doing than jerking off into a specimen jar."

Camilla took a moment to be thankful that Genomics had harvested eggs from her when she was twelve. Becoming a cavalier was a dangerous enough path that they did it routinely on those with ovaries, just in case of an unfortunate sword accident. She'd endured the uncomfortable procedure with mild irritation and gotten back to her training.

"It's too bad they didn't ask when you were thirteen," she said, finishing putting her things away. "They could have scraped a battalion's worth of future little necromancers off your sheets every morning."

"Not helping, Cam."

There was a moment of silence. "I could, though," she said, still with her back turned. "Help get this over with, so you could get back to your work."

After she spoke she instantly regretted it, and tried to figure out how to make a graceful exit if he said no. Maybe she could go get dinner, give him some more time to complete the task at hand, so to speak... It might be awkward, but better than staying and listening to him try to get off while complaining about it the entire time. 

Then he said, quietly, "All right. Give me a hand." This, regrettably, was why she loved him - even their terrible jokes were utterly in unison with one another.

Camilla turned. Palamedes was just taking his glasses off and setting them on the table, and she looked directly into his eyes, which was dangerous. She knew she couldn't do this if he was looking at her - she wouldn't have the strength not to kiss him. Her chest ached with the need to kneel in front of him and examine every inch of him with her tongue, but that would not only be inappropriate, but (as Pal would be the first to point out) would contaminate any sample he might produce. 

Instead, she pushed some of the titty magazines aside and climbed onto the bed to sit behind him, legs spread to either side of his narrow hips. "Take this thing off," she said, pushing his too-large shirt up, and he obligingly tugged it over his head and tossed it over onto her bed. His vertebrae dug into her chest like a line of caltrops, but she leaned into them anyway, taking the minor discomfort so that she was pressed tight against his back and could circle her arms around his waist. She could feel the tension all through his frame. "Try to relax," she said, and gently slid her fingers down the length of his cock.

It had the opposite of the desired effect. Palamedes tightened up further, trembling as she curled her hand around him. "Breathe," Camilla reminded him. "Let me take care of you." With a slow, shuddering breath he nodded. When she started stroking him, he let out a little gasp, letting his head slump forward onto his chest, and she felt a little of the tension dissipate.

His cock was warm and sturdy in her hand, the skin soft like a particularly fine silk as she slid it against her palm. Of course she'd seen Pal naked before, hundreds of times, but she had never touched him like this - never held him in her arms so vulnerable and exposed. When she'd fooled around with other cavaliers-in-training, it had been fun, but she hadn't felt anything for any of them. Her other hand rested lightly on his skinny thigh, feeling its muscles twitch faintly with each stroke. It was an intimacy of a new and startling kind, and Camilla was unnerved by it. "Is this... okay?" 

"Uh huh," Pal said, sounding a little winded. "You can go harder."

She gripped him more firmly, and he gave a loud huff of breath, hips jerking up involuntarily in response. With quick, steady strokes she traveled the length of his cock, pausing only occasionally at the top to run her thumb over the slick that was gathering there and drag it back down. She wanted to taste it, to bring her hand to her mouth and lick it clean so that she could return it, still wet, to the task. It was a pathetic wish, and again, Camilla tried not to think about it.

Unable to see the look on his face, she had to rely on the signals of his body, the way his muscles shifted or his breath staggered, to inform her pace and rhythm. She shifted her hips, acutely aware of how wet she was, hoping without much hope that Pal might not be aware of it as well. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, flushed and hot, and knew he'd feel that too. As though in response, he put his hands on her thighs, gripping them hard enough to make her gasp. Even though part of her imagined this would be over quickly, still she didn't want it to end.

"Cam," he whispered, "talk to me..."

At first she didn't know if she could. If she started talking, she was afraid her feelings might spill out of her and she'd never be able to put them back. She would ruin everything. But maybe if she could make him think about something else - or someone else... if she could keep just that much distance, for self-preservation, then she could make it through this. 

"Imagine," she began, her voice low and husky, "if Lady Septimus was here, sitting just over there, on my bed, watching."

Pal gave a low moan, but he didn't tell her to stop, so she kept talking. "Do you think she'd like to see you like this? To know it's all for her?"

"But it's for genomics..." Pal began, before she shushed him. 

"Think about something a little more fun than your genetic legacy, you're terrible at enjoying yourself. What if she told you to lean back a little so she could see you better, hm? If she leaned in closer and licked her lips and said how delectable you look?" 'Delectable' was definitely the kind of word Dulcinea would use, Camilla suspected. "Do you think you could come for her, if she asked you very sweetly?"

"I... fuck, I want to..." he stammered.

"Good, that's right." She kept stroking him, faster now, and she could feel the quivering, urgent tension in his body, the way his breath kept catching in his throat like a hook. 

"But..."

"But what?"

"But I need the specimen jar." He reached over to the bedside table, fumbling frantically for it.

Camilla couldn't fault him for that - it'd all be wasted effort if he didn't manage to secure the payload, so to speak. She just gave him a few seconds to reposition himself and then picked up her pace again. "You're doing so well, you just need to let go," she said, before remembering to add, "That's what she'd tell you, if she were here."

"Ohh fuck, C-cam," he gasped, and she felt his muscles stiffen, his body jolting three, four times in quick succession, then slump back against her, panting. She held him there for a long moment, like she would have if he'd been particularly exhausted after some expenditure of necromantic energy - which in a way, she supposed, this was.

At length, he struggled up to standing, and carefully sealed the container. Camilla straightened her tunic and rose, ducking into the small bathroom they shared to wash her hands. She took longer over it than she strictly needed to, and by the time she emerged, Pal was dressed and had cleared away any evidence of the deed. Even the titty mags had vanished, presumably alongside wherever he'd put the specimen jar to return to Genomics. He was sitting at his desk, glasses back on, looking more or less unruffled as he pored over his books. Cam went and laid down on her bed. 

"Thank you," Palamedes said quietly, glancing over in her direction. "I'm relieved to have that out of the way."

"It's no problem," she replied. "I'm going to nap for a bit before dinner." If he'd had more he meant to say, thankfully he didn't press the matter.

 _He said your name when he came,_ her inner voice reminded her. _Not hers._ She told her inner voice it wasn't being reasonable. Then she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep so she wouldn't have to talk about it anymore, or think about how he'd looked at her just now. For the task they were about to undertake, he couldn't afford a soft heart and she couldn't afford a broken one. It was just one more way she was protecting him - or at least that was what she told herself.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at [naryrising](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/naryrising) if you want to ask questions, make requests, or chat!


End file.
